THE VERSION OF YOU WAITING TO BE REBORN...

There is a version of you buried under everything you were taught to tolerate. All the people-pleasing, the overthinking, the perfectionism—none of it came from the real you. Somewhere along the way, you swallowed beliefs that were never yours, carried wounds you didn’t deserve, and held on to identities that were only meant to help you survive a childhood or an environment that didn’t allow you to be fully alive. And so when you feel stuck, it’s not because you’re lazy or broken. You’re stuck because you’ve been carrying dead weight that has quietly suffocated your momentum. This moment right now is not about adding more to your to-do list—it’s about removing what has been killing the life out of you.

The Black community knows this story well. We inherit trauma, expectations, survival patterns, and emotional armor that once kept us safe but now hold us hostage. One of the heaviest chains is the loyalty we carry toward outdated versions of ourselves. We cling to old stories, old roles, and the ghosts of who we had to be just to make it through. But staying loyal to a version of yourself that no longer exists is the quickest way to sabotage your growth. Many of us were raised to be small, quiet, unseen, or hyper-responsible, but growth requires discomfort. Evolution requires permission. You are allowed to change. You are allowed to become unrecognizable—even to yourself. If you let your past write your present, then your future is already dead. Letting go is not failure. It is a funeral for your former self so that your future can finally breathe.

And right when you get close to that breakthrough, the self-sabotage creeps in. It happens to many of us: the moment progress begins, we burn out, disappear, or create chaos, because chaos feels safer than success. Misery can be familiar, and the unknown can feel terrifying, so we run back to what we know—even if it kills us. This is not coincidence. It’s conditioning. Many of us have never been comfortable with success because we’ve been so accustomed to struggle. We fear not failure but the responsibility of finally winning. And so we rehearse failure in our minds until we never even risk success at all.

Then there are the people around us—those who drain us, limit us, or remind us of who we used to be. You cannot heal in the same environment that hurt you. Even with the strongest boundaries, the wrong people will find a way to tap into your energy. You teach people how to treat you, and some people only understand the language of access being denied. Growth requires distance. Peace requires pruning.

Too many of us also live as performers, not as ourselves. We dance for approval, needing validation like air, twisting ourselves into characters that please others but suffocate us. The Black community has been conditioned for generations to prove ourselves, to shrink ourselves, to earn acceptance that should have been ours by birthright. But people-pleasing is self-abandonment. The moment you choose authenticity, you must accept that approval will fall away. But what’s meant for you will remain.

We’ve also been taught to fear uncertainty, to need everything planned out before taking the first step. But that’s not responsibility—that’s trauma disguised as control. Life does not reveal the whole map at once. You only see the next 100 feet, like headlights on a dark road. You move, then clarity comes. You move again, then confidence grows. Sitting still and overthinking is not preparation; it’s procrastination dressed as safety. “Someday” is where dreams go to die. If it matters to you, you schedule it. If you don’t, you’re lying to yourself.

Many of us believe success will fix us—more money, more recognition, more praise. But success only amplifies what’s already inside. Hustle is a beautiful mask for emotional pain, but eventually the mask cracks. A larger bank account cannot fill a bankrupt sense of self-worth. You can’t outrun your wounds. You can only heal them.

And part of that healing means reconnecting with the inner child you abandoned. The child who needed love, safety, affirmation, and patience. The child who still cries out every time you panic, shut down, or self-sabotage. That wounded version of you never disappeared—they simply grew up, learned adult coping mechanisms, and carried your pain forward. Reparenting isn’t corny—it’s necessary. It’s giving yourself now what you desperately needed then. Compassion, not criticism. Safety, not shame.

We also have to confront perfectionism masquerading as having “high standards.” Perfectionism is not excellence—it’s fear. It’s the belief that if something isn’t flawless, then you aren’t safe. But perfection doesn’t exist. Progress does. Done does. Mistakes do. Every meaningful thing you will ever create will be touched by flaw, and that’s what makes it real.

And finally, we have to stop running from failure. Failure will happen, and that’s the point. It’s not failure itself that you fear—it’s what you think it reveals about you. But failure is not a verdict. Failure is a teacher. Failure is the training ground for resilience. You will never become a master of anything if you refuse to be a beginner. Success demands repetition, vulnerability, and the willingness to look foolish on your way to greatness.

If any of this hits you in your chest, good. This is not shame. This is a wake-up call. You cannot carry your old self into your new life. One of them has to go. Choose the one that aligns with your future, not your fear. Choose the you that you’ve been avoiding. Let the outdated version of you die with honor, and let the real you finally breathe.

This is your moment. Shed the skin. Step toward yourself. And move.